A Single Glowing Ember
by fallenthistledown
Summary: Myriadria thought she put away her dreams when she became an auror. Snape had never dared to dream to begin with, but sometimes hope leaves embers where we least expect them. SSOC Not Cliched! R&R.
1. Default Chapter

This is my first fanfic, so go easy on me, eh? I know the first chapter's a little rough and the POV keeps shifting, and Snape isn't being entirely Snapey, but it will be easier to understand in later chapters. If there are any discrepancies between the story and the books, please let me know. My parents think Harry Potter is the devil- I don't own a single copy of the books. R and R, pleeeeeeeeeease.

His arrival came like the thunderstorm that was assaulting the castle walls. Stowed away in her great-uncle's office, she could hear every door that shuddered and slammed behind him on his way. The windowpanes were already rattling in their frames by the time he reached the second floor. She set her teacup on the edge of the desk and watched the ripples running out from the center of her tea. _Uncle Albus, you self-serving little hellion, _she thought, studying the white bearded professor over the rims of her spectacles as he stared back at her over his. _I should have known you had ulterior motives for inviting me tonight._

"Come now, dear, don't look so insulted." His smile was intended to be disarming. She wasn't falling for it. "Oh alright, so I employed a smidgeon of deception. Guilty as charged. You're has a distraction tactic for an angry man. But when I received your owl at such a convenient time, I couldn't help myself."

The young, aristocratic looking woman sniffed haughtily and turned back to the window. "Leave off, you old lamb, the pout only works when I do it. I've told you time and again to stick with the twinkling eye trick."

At which point it became painfully obvious that their expected guest had reached the stairwell. Albus Dumbledore made a graceful lunge for his grand-niece's teacup before it toppled from his desk. She glared pointedly the other way, as if to say he could help himself out of this one. Three sharp blows were delivered to the door of the office. The old wizard's niece half cocked her head, still trying to play disinterested. In a warm chuckle he called out to the door, "Come in, Severus."

Severus Snape was, for the second time that week, livid with rage. He was cold, cramped from head to foot, tired beyond exhaustion, and his head ached like mad from extensive use of Occlumency. His robes reeked of poison and blood. As a spy on the activities of Lord Voldemort, he was forced to keep up a rather demanding bluff in the dark lord's presence. He was hungry and thirsty and wanted desperately to clear the images of tonight's Death Eater meeting from his head and tuck himself away in his dungeon. But first, he was going to resign.

By the time he had reached the door to Professor Dumbledore's office, he was shaking with rage. How could that man ask him, time and again, to go back to that…place; to face that half-human thing and partake in those half-human rites? Was it worth the second chance? Hah! Not hardly. What had Albus actually given him that was worth this four dimensional anguish? With all the pent up rage of a tortured animal, he hammered the door three times.

The head wizard called him inside in a mocking chuckle. Shaking the rain from his unkempt, black hair, he stalked into the headmaster's office. He was about to unleash his fury on the old man when he noticed a young witch sitting on Dumbledore's desk, her legs folded neatly beneath her. She had her back turned to both of them, and Severus got the distinct impression he was interrupting an argument. He noticed his mouth was still somewhat unhinged and managed to close it.

The young witch turned to look at him; a soft, gentle face observing him from behind rectangular spectacles. She seemed vaguely familiar- a former student perhaps? She was wearing a sweater of bold Slytherin green: had she been in his house?

"Severus, I'd like you to meet, or re-meet rather, my grand-niece Myriadria Dumbledore."

So that was it. She had, not surprisingly looked more like a child the last time he had seen her, but he remembered well enough. How could he forget, when half of the boys in his common room had been trailing about behind her like lost puppies? She was just the kind of child he had always resented; Dumbledore's favorite, popular with all the students, a good keeper on the Quidditch field, and a competent student in all subjects- all of which he was not. Just like Harry Potter, only the kids in his house now had the sense not to fawn over him. He was also completely incompetent at potions, where Myriadria had been adept even when he had tried to be exceptionally intimidating.

Severus Snape did not take the hand the young woman offered to him. He had finally managed to get a grip on his mind again, and his rage, along with his multitude of aches, had flared back to life.

"I resign," Myriadria's old professor stated in the cold, lifeless tone of absolute fury she had learned to recognize during her years as his potions student.

Uncle Albus leaned back comfortably, fixing the man with his "anything said in anger will be disregarded for your future benefit" smile. She cringed. That was not the look one wanted to get from the headmaster. It meant that anything you were about to say, whether it was the most important thing you believed you ever would say or not, was a complete waste of words.

Black robes swished around the potions master as he began pacing the floor. Once or twice he turned to glare at the two of them, and his mouth twitched with the words he was biting back, not sure if it was worthwhile to throw them away just to vent some of his anger. He opted, rather, to throw objects. Muggle vases shattered against the front of the desk; bounced from the walls. An entire painting, one of Fawkes the Phoenix, was demolished over his knee. A few marble statues dented the walls and lost their appendages. Myriadria silently applauded him for avoiding the windows. They had a nasty habit of flinging everything back at you, she had discovered a few years ago.

"If you're quite done with that, perhaps you'd like let yourself cool off a bit and then come back and make your report?" The old wizard didn't wait for a reply. "Now then, if you don't mind, my niece here has a rather urgent need to use your lab facilities. I'll talk to you in the morning, Severus."

There was no mistaking that for a request. Feeling guilty as hell, the young witch jumped down from her uncle's desk and followed him into the hall. His strides were long, his legs infinitely longer, and she had to scramble after him. She had just opened her mouth to apologize, when she found herself suddenly backed into a wall.

"Do not speak," his lethal voice warned. "I do not wish to cause you bodily harm."

And then he was off, sweeping down the hallway once again. Myriad had forgotten just far from her great-uncle's office the dungeons were- even on a good day. On the days when the enchanted castle was being tricky, it was nearly a full length expedition.

They spoke not a word the entire time. He showed her to the potions lab, unlocked the supply cupboard, and then left, locking her in as he went. When his footsteps had died away in the corridor, she set to work.

His headache had gone from dull roar to a raging tempest. He managed to tumble onto his bed, where he lay half-awake for some time. The Dark Lord's high pitched cackle was echoing through his head. Images of carnage came hot on it's heals, crowding his brain until he could not tell which were tonight's and which had been trapped in his memory for decades.

There was a girl banging cauldrons around on the other side of his wall, and he wanted to kill her, but first, he would have to kill Dumbledore. He didn't want to get up, but he wanted even less to let the wench have her way with his laboratory unsupervised.

She was hunched over a bowl, grinding herbs when he let himself in. The acrid stench that came with most of the more challenging potions hung about the air, doing little for his head. Stalking silently along beside her, he peered over her shoulder.

It happened before he could stop himself. The sight of the wolf's bane potion the young woman was using triggered the memory of Remus Lupin, one of _them._ The werewolf Dumbledore trusted over him. He should have thought about it enough to know that Dumbledore's grand-niece could not be untrustworthy. He should have thought period. But he didn't. He simply found the girl smashed against a wall, her neck clamped between his long hands.

She hardly flinched at all beneath his tightening grip, as if she were very used to being choked suddenly in the middle of the night. But then she _was_ an _auror_. Even he had kept track of the youngest Dumbledore's whereabouts long enough to know that. And even if he hadn't know, it was written in the scars that marred her soft white throat. Wait… written…?

"Sweet Merlin!" He only managed a hiss, his fingers suddenly trembling over the initials carved upon her collarbone. "You are a Death Eater's woman."

Her eyes were passive blue oceans when she met his gaze. "We all have to make a sacrifice."

He let her go and upended the table behind them. "Good Goddess, how much can that man ask?"

"Uncle Albus never asked me to do this. Hell, he went against his own standards to try to stop me. He interfered with the sorting hat, made sure I would be placed in Hufflepuff." She was standing beside him, studying the cauldron he'd just emptied onto the floor. "I chose my career."

"What of the wolf's bane? It's not…?"

"No, no. It's not for me. It's for a muggle villager. The Ministry's been sending people to clean up after a Death Eater attack."

Severus suddenly felt both very tired and very sorry. He cleaned up the mess he had made, and then apologized.

"I can make the wolf's bane," he sighed. "I won't sleep for hours now anyway."

She stood there, in the doorway, watching him work and saying nothing, her hair falling around her soft face in waves. She looked like she might say something, and he wished she would. He did not wish to be alone at the moment, but her back was already turned. With a resigned sigh, he sank into his work.


	2. Move Me On To Any Black Square

Okeeee, second chapter: in which the author discovers the wonderful new world of readable font sizes and double spacing. Also, the plot begins making a lot more sense, and Snape is more Snapey. The two characters introduced in this chapter kind of pop up abruptly, but you'll learn more about them in chapters to come. I hopes you loikes it.

Myriad's POV

It was five after three when she finally stepped off the Knight Bus and onto the staircase leading up to her flat in muggle London. Her eyelids were heavy and drooping, her face pale and drawn, when she fit her key to the lock and performed the series of de-warding charms. Tired as she was, she was immediately conscious of another presence in her house.

She drew her wand and crept forward. She could make out the outline of a man lying on her couch. Something about the stillness of the figure, the way he was sprawled across the sofa, struck fear in her. She had been an auror long enough to know what an attacker waiting for his victim looked like, and this was not it. Quivering with terror, she waved her wand to light the candles around her apartment.

A strangled sob escaped her throat. He lay there in tattered robes, a wry grin frozen on his lifeless face. The cushions beneath him were stained crimson with his blood. A dagger was buried to the hilt in his throat.

Myriadria could feel the desperate hysteria building in her chest. Leon Follet had been her closest friend since their first year at Hogwarts. He was a highly respected, powerful auror. Leon Follet was dependable as the sunrise; he did not miscalculate in his work. The feeling of hopelessness that swept over Myriad upon finding him here made her frantic.

A cool draft blew through, rustling papers. The balcony door was open. Myriad shook violently. Candles flickered and went out. A cold voice whispered from behind her, "How the mighty have fallen."

"Felix." She could barely get herself to say. "You were in Azkaban."

"Guess again, kitten." He was just over her shoulder now.

"I saw them take you." After all, it had been she who turned him in when her attempt to convert him had failed. "The Ministry couldn't have let you go."

He chuckled, pleased with himself. "Surly you didn't think I actually trusted you?"

"You bribed the guards before the trial." It was a statement, not a question.

"Ah, so perceptive, little mouse." She shuddered at the feel of his hands in her hair. "But you're not really a little mouse, are you? You do your job well."

His hands moved like lightening to rip the wand from her trembling fingers, and still her body refused to let her move. Her breaths were coming in shallow, panicked gasps. She could have killed him in an instant if only she hadn't frozen up. Felix, smelled like blood, she realized- Leon's blood. She turned to look at him, and found that his robes were sticky with the stuff. Her anger should have spurred her to action, but instead she shook harder.

"Let's play chess, shall we?" Felix drawled, throwing her against the wall with his wand. He drew four daggers from his cloak and, one by one, pinned her hands and feet to the wall. Strolling calmly across the living room, he stopped beside her wizard's chess set on the coffee table and nudged a pawn. "It's your move."

Somehow, it was strangely calming to hear this familiar phrase. The man was really entirely too fond of chess. He even played the stupid game when he made love. The wild hysteria was still clutching at her, but instinct kicked in. With a smirk, she wrenched her arms free of wall, strode across the room, and brought out her knight from behind the wall of pawns.

"The four step win?" she sneered. "Expecting a short game?"

His grin was vile when he replied. "Quite the contrary." He shifted a second pawn and muttered a careless, "Crucio." He went to stand in the window while she writhed upon the floor.

_Sometimes, she thought as the curse wore off and she summoned her wand to herself, it pays to come from a powerful bloodline. She clambered to her feet and flicked her wand, sending a lamp hurtling toward Felix's head. He had reflexes like a fox, and managed to shelter his head from the blow with his arms. Myriad shrugged and moved another chess piece. She was, at last, completely calm. When Felix made his next move, first throwing a curse that sent raging flames searing through her veins, she had already started backing toward the wall. _

She was vaguely conscious of the warm blood running from the puncture wounds in her palms. The fiery curse was nearly over. She grabbed a mirror from the wall and shattered it over her knee. She gingerly extracted a long, jagged piece of glass and plunged into the shadows. Her makeshift weapon caught her opponent between his neck and shoulder blades; had the glass not slipped in her bloody grip, it would have ended it.

Myriad knew when Felix took her knight with a bishop that she was in for a harsh retaliation. She braced herself for the terrible curses that reduced her to a whimpering heap.

_That's enough of this. She told herself, as her king and rook swapped places. I'm getting out of here._

Felix had checked out her records thoroughly when they'd been seeing each other. If she had been a registered animagus, he would have planned a way to prevent her escaping. Luckily, she'd never bothered to get herself registered. Transfiguring herself into a black panther, she streaked out onto the balcony and leapt to the London streets below. In a blink, she had apparated to Hogwarts Grounds.

Severus' POV

Having had such a difficult night, Severus Snape could not explain exactly why it was that he was lying awake in his dungeon chamber at four o'clock in the morning. His head was throbbing, still, and none of his potions had done anything to relieve the pain. At last, with a growl, he threw off his blanket and stormed out into the halls.

Hoping to catch a student out of bed to deduct house points, he started off toward Gryffindor tower. His iron clad grip on his emotions was solidly in place again, and he was slipping back into his usual snaky self. Perhaps Potter would be out creeping around with his invisibility cape tonight. A good week of detentions for the-boy-who-lived would be just the thing tonight.

He was just rounding a corner when heard a clattering racket. _A first year tripping on a coat of arms,_ he chuckled to himself. _Delightful._ Putting on his trademark scowl, he stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed over his chest.

But it wasn't a first year. It wasn't even a student. Instead, a tattered and bloodied Myriadria Dumbledore stood in the hallway.

"What are you doing sneaking around like this?" he demanded skeptically.

She snorted. "Dropping in for tea, what does it look like?"

"You look like hell." He snapped.

"And you look like you live there."

This was going nowhere, and she did seem to need attention rather badly.

He softened a little. "You should go to the infirmary."

"I have to see my uncle first, but…I'm not sure if my feet will hold out." He could tell it took an effort for her to admit it.

"I think it can wait," he suggested.

"And I think it can't." Her lip began trembling. Was she that angry with him for trying to help? "There's a murdered auror laying on my sofa." The admission seemed to have a violent effect on the girl, for she was suddenly shuddering and trembling.

Being a man who was accustomed to causing fits of hysteria in young women, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he suddenly found her arms around him and her face buried in his shoulder. _Oh hell,_ he cursed to himself, _what do I do now?_ _I can't just leave the headmaster's niece to bleed in the hallway._ Second only to Lord Voldemort himself, a hysterical woman was the most frightening thing Severus Snape had encountered in years. _Damn it all, I suppose there's nothing else for it. _ He embraced the sobbing child stiffly, and with the utter awkwardness that only a very inexperienced man can have, he picked her up. It was the worst walk to Dumbledore's office of his lifetime.

The old wizard flung open his door on the first knock. The girl nearly leapt into his open arms on sight. Severus found a morbid satisfaction in the fact that she was as glad to be out of his arms as he was to be rid of her.

Albus tucked the girl's head under his chin and rocked her back and forth. Severus was making for the door, but the headmaster held up a hand for him to stay. He stood in the doorway until the girl had stopped sobbing. Her Great-uncle settled her in a chair and drew a second up beside her. He handed her a lemon drop which she popped into her mouth obediently.

"Call Poppy up here immediately," Albus told him, so he went to the fireplace and summoned the medi-witch by floo.

"Might as well floo the Ministry while you're at it," the young woman sniffled at last, and pulled her chair over to the fire. "Alastor Moody, if you don't mind."

The wild eyed auror's head appeared in the fireplace. "What?"

"Leon Follet is dead. Felix Austwitz never went to Azkaban. I don't know where he has been for three months, but it wasn't there. He suspected me before the trial and set up an escape route. You'll need to send a crew to my apartment to retrieve Leon's body; he's still on my sofa if the bastard hasn't done anything to him. Felix may still be in the vicinity, and he may have set traps, so be careful. As far as I know, he's still working independently of "You-Know-Who", but there's no guarantee he's working alone. I'll need someone to set new wards as well, and get any incriminating belongings out of there as quickly as possible. If you find any papers that may have been read, burn them. Oh, and whatever you do, leave the chess set _exactly_ as it is…even if the white queen gets lewd with you. I'll give you a detailed report as soon as I get myself patched up."

The girl sank back into her chair looking pale and faint. She had lost a lot of blood, even since she'd arrived there. Poppy Pomfrey came trotting into the room with a bag of supplies not a moment too late. She set to work patching the younger woman up, grumbling all the while that the two men should have sent her to the infirmary immediately.

"You may go now, Severus," Dumbledore told him.

"Professor?" Myriadria called him back from the door. He looked at her, his brows raised. "Thank you."

He grunted and took his leave.


End file.
